Through the Eyes of a Stranger
by Damn the Torpedoes
Summary: A look at the Quest in-depth through the eyes of Gimli. Hopefully more in-character than previous stories. Please leave a review. The Council begins... chapter two revised and lengthened. Flames accepted but not appreciated.
1. Prologue

Authors Note: None of my stories thus far have been succesful- it seems I'm struggling to keep them in character, so I'm making another attempt at writing by writing the Quest through the eyes of my favourite character, Gimli. Please review and let me know how I'm doing!  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm even borrowing my body from God. I'll have to give it back to him at some point :(  
  
I've changed Legolas's hair colour to the one used in my other chapters, and corrected a few atrocious mini-Balrogs I'm ashamed to have created.  
  
*............* indicates italics. I can't use html. I'm stupid.  
  
~Through the Eyes of a Stranger~  
  
Gimli gazed deep into the flames of the 'Hall of Fire'. They flickered and danced an eternal dance, occasional flecks of gold and red leaping above the rest, capering with the grey smoke rising from the flames. If he looked hard enough he could almost envision a phoenix rising with wings of fire from the blaze. He had heard of those ancient creatures in old stories. He'd always been one for stories, which was why he had taken a liking to this Hall.  
  
There were Elves. Elves here and Elves there. He had been brought up to hate the Elves, and he tried hard. Sometimes it was easy- they were spiteful, prideful know-it-alls who looked down their straight noses at other *lesser* beings who did not share their eternal perfection and beauty. But a small part of him just couldn't *hate* the Elves, especially at times like this; they're ethereal voices floated around the Hall in a mixture of beautiful song and wondrous stories, most of which were spoken in a language strange to him, but he'd discovered in the week that he had stayed here, that if he closed his eyes and listened to the words, they mingled together and formed a vision, clear as though he was truly there, watching it from afar. It is a marvellous feeling indeed.  
  
His father did not approve, indeed, he had to say that it disgusted Glóin, that his son had been spending much of his time in here. Indeed, often he had fallen asleep, lulled by the gentle songs.  
  
He started awake. He had been on the edge of a dream again! He cursed himself miserably and threw his hood back for a moment, shaking his long copper-red hair loose. He suddenly become aware of something looking at him, looking *through* him; it felt like cold ice piercing his soul, yet it seemed as though the ice were originally water, and had frozen just for his benefit. He paused for a moment, looking for the one whom that gaze belonged to; it did not take him long. The Elf was sitting near the back of a small huddle of Elves around a stool on which another Elf whom Gimli had learnt was called Lindir was singing softly. The Elf watching him was dressed differently to the other Elves, who were clad in blues, purples and silvers. This Elf was wearing green and brown, his hair spilling like woven shadow down his shoulders and was caught in delicate braids about his tapered ears. He seemed to be made of porcelain, or maybe ice itself. His grey eyes were cold like steel, yet there was a hidden warmth behind them. Gimli regarded him with as much similar coolness as he could muster until he could no longer endure that sharp piercing look and turned away.  
  
He left the Hall as swiftly as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. The last thing he need was more Elf eyes fixed on him. As he left, he passed two of the Hobbit's- a young one that arrived only a few days ago, and yet he had not seen before, and the old Hobbit Bilbo, who was the one who had accompanied his father and the rest of Thorin's company on the Quest for Erebor.  
  
He left the Hobbits without disturbing them, and neither showed any sign of seeing him pass; they were deeply absorbed in conversation. He cursed inwardly as he wandered aimlessly along the wide, airy corridors of Imladris; there were trees growing even inside the passages, that were never fully closed- the roof indeed seemed made up entirely of intertwining branches, that gave the place a full, wholesome feeling. *Drat the Elves and their architecture!* he though irritably. He wished dearly that he was able to dislike the Elves as his kind were accustomed. It would be so much easier for him in the long-run, he considered. The corridors and rooms of Rivendell were actually very pleasant indeed, the thing was that they all looked exactly the same and there were so many of them that he was constantly getting lost!  
  
After much aimless wandering he ran smack into someone he didn't quite expect. He looked up and found himself nose to belt with a grey-cloaked old man leaning on a staff, glaring at him down his long nose with a twinkle in his deep eyes: "Tharkun!" Gimli cried joyously, "What a joy to meet you here!"  
  
"Well met, Gimli son of Glóin!" laughed the old wizard, reaching out a hand to steady the Dwarf; he had staggered backwards from the force of colliding with the Istari. "It is a many a while since I have heard the name 'Tharkun'. I am generally known as Mithrandir here, or Gandalf to a few."  
  
"Gandalf it is then."  
  
He frowned at the short creature. "And what brings you to Imladris, Gimli?"  
  
"Dáin sent Father and I here with tidings," was the reply, "I think Elrond wants us to join the great Council tomorrow. At least, that is what Father told me."  
  
"And where is Glóin?"  
  
"I can honestly tell you that I have no idea."  
  
"You are not the most organised of Dwarves are you, Gimli?" Gandalf chuckled, his eyes twinkling beneath his deep brows. Gimli made a show of looking hurt but soon his facial muscles got the better of him, and his face broke into a lopsided grin. Soon he and the Wizard were both laughing heartily, something Gimli had not done for a while.  
  
~There! That's jut a prologue if you like, a little taster. Hopefully I will succeed in being in-character for this. Please review, but don't judge me too harshly. Constructive criticism is devoured eagerly, flames will go to my beautiful Fell-Beast, Checkers, who has no heating in her mini-dark tower :D Thankyou! ~DtT~ 


	2. Strangers From Distant Lands

Authors Note: Thankyou for the kind people who left me reviews! Hugs and obergines for all! Now, continuing with my story... please review! I will put messages or whatnot to kind reviewers in the next chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm even borrowing my body from God. I'll have to give it back to him at some point. Some text is taken from Tolkien's books. I don't own this either. You should know which it is.  
  
Note: In chapter one, I described Legolas's hair as golden. This is a continuity error, as I am writing how I see LotR and Legolas has black hair. Also, when I uploaded this chapter originally, I did not realise how much I had left to write of the council into one chapter! I hope this longer, revised chapter is better for those of you who have been complaining about lack of updates (imagine that!) and be assured that a new chapter is always in progress. Thing is, I have my GCSE's to think about, as well as my careers stuff so please bear with me! Thanks.  
  
*............* indicates italics. I can't use html. I'm stupid.  
  
//"..........."\\ indicates Khuzdul.  
  
~Through the Eyes of a Stranger~  
  
Gimli was leaning against a tall balcony overlooking one of the many pretty gardens of Rivendell, trying in vain to look nonchalent, all too aware of the many cold glances given to him by passing Elves. He gave up after about ten minutes, and converted to giving them death-glares of his own. It didn't seem to work, particularly when several Elves went past at once; as they left they would laugh and talk amongst themselves in their own language. Though Gimli didn't understand the words, he suspected that the words were directed at him and they weren't overly friendly.  
  
The young Dwarf sighed; had this been any place else, those Elves would have discovered what it felt like to be knocked over by a Dwarven fist in the stomach, but since this was the House of Elrond, who had aided the Quest of Erebor and thus helped to spare Gimli's family from more years of poverty and hunger, he was trying his hardest to be on his best dignity with all the elves of the House, especially those of obvious standing (such as Elrond himself) but there were times when his pride surfaced highest.  
  
"Um... hello?"  
  
Gimli jerked is head up from where he had been gazing at a sparkling waterfall, admiring how the sunlight glinting off of it looked remarkably like the stars of the sky. There was a stout hobbit standing beside him, with tousled sun-bleached brown hair and a nervous expression.  
  
"Yes?" Gimli queried, "Can I help you?"  
  
"No..." the hobbit shifted nervously, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he glanced awkwardly at his furred feet. "I was wonderin' if I could join you?"  
  
Gimli grinned, and the hobbit relaxed. Many relaxed when flashed with that smile; its lopsided, relaxed expression of cheerfulness made them feel much more comfortable. "Of course you can, Master Hobbit." Gimli moved over a little, and the hobbit joined him, still looking slightly nervous. "No matter what you've heard, I don't eat halflings." Gimli told him in mock- seriousness. The hobbit smiled then, and held out a small hand.  
  
"I'm Samwise... Sam I'm usually known as though."  
  
"Gimli." Gimli held out his own broad rough hand and took Sam's. Sam grimaced slightly at the Dwarf's crushing grip, and Gimli released him.  
  
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mister Gimli." Sam said rather formally.  
  
"Just Gimli, if you please, young Samwise," Gimli chucked, "'Mister' is a bit formal if you understand." Sam opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a loud clear bell. Gandalf's words from last night came back to Gimli with a huge resounding thunk in his head.  
  
*"The Council will begin at the ringing of the bell in the morning."*  
  
The young dwarf turned to Sam, "I must go. It's been a pleasure to meet you." he gave Sam a friendly pat on the back, almost sending the hobbit sprawling on his face, turned and ran. He really did not want to be late with all these Elves around.  
  
Gimli found the Council chamber without too much difficulty -something he took pride in for some time afterwards. Though it was not really a chamber, but a large open porch. The bubbling of a small silver waterfall could be heard amid the talking of birds in the trees nearby. The ground was strewn with red and gold leaves, though the trees still held some of their greenery. His father was already there, along with a tall weatherbeaten ranger, a richly-clad man and seven Elves, with, of course, Elrond himself. Despite his misgivings about the Fair Folk, Gimli liked Elrond. The tall, wise, venerable Elf-Lord was a very likeable character, who you could not help but trust.  
  
Gimli sat down by his father and, noting the suspiscious, sometimes even slightly revolted looks being sent their way by the seven Elves, they began a quiet conversation in Khuzdul.  
  
//"So you found your way?"\\ Gloin inquired.  
  
//"Yes, thank you."\\ was the short reply from his son, //"I met a hobbit, called Samwise. A most agreeable creature he was."\\  
  
//"Aye,"\\ the white-haired Dwarf smiled fondly, //"They are wonderful creatures. Bilbo was not all that keen on adventure, but he made a fine burglar in the end. It seems that the trait runs within the Race."\\  
  
//"It seems so. I'm glad I was able to meet a hobbit at long last. I have passed through the Shire a few times, but only on it's skirts. It seemed a tranquil country. I should like to visit it, I think."\\  
  
//"Even if the land does not live up to your expectations, the food of the hobbits is very tasty; it should fill even your stomach, my lad!"\\  
  
Gimli chuckled. There was a certain tension in the air, as though the whole of Middle-earth, or at least Rivendell, was waiting for something. It felt good to laugh; it broke the tension and made the atmosphere seem much more comfortable. At least, to Gimli it did. It was at that moment that Gandalf, an old hobbit Gimli vaguely recognised as Bilbo from his visit to Erebor a few years ago and the young hobbit Gimli had seen him talking to yesterday. The Wizard and Bilbo sat down, and Elrond stood, drawing the young hobbit to his side.  
  
"Here, my friends, is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever come hither through greater peril or on an errand more urgent."  
  
*Cheerful opening words.* Gimli thought to himself, regarding the hobbit with curiosity now. He was looking round at them all with apprehension and a grave expression on his young face. Elrond began pointing out those that Frodo obviously did not know, and Gimli listened also.  
  
"This is Gimli, Gloin's son. He has travelled here with grave news from Erebor." Gimli gave Frodo a small smile, but the hobbit was looking too troubled to notice it. Sympathy for the little creature raged in Gimli's heart. He pushed it down with irritation.  
  
Elrond introduced his counsellors, the chief of whom was Erestor, a tall, dark-haired Elf with a piercing grey gaze and sharp-features. He had a stern look, and it passed Gimli's mind not to get onto the wrong side of this character. He had the look of one who knew much, sometimes too much. Also there was a golden-haired Elf sent by Cirdan of the Havens named Galdor, whose grey gaze was troubled. He had quite a pleasant face, with softer, rounder features than those of Erestor. His mouth curved upwards slightly, even though he had an anxious expression, as one who was accustomed to laughter and song. One of the Elves, a tall, proud, golden- haired creature, was not named. His eyes were bottomless, and he had the air of one whose great powers were wrapped in a thin shroud, ready to be released. Gimli assumed that Frodo knew him already.  
  
The last Elf to be introduced was named as Legolas; he was clad in green and brown, which made him stand out from the other Elves. His hair was like ebony, caught back in intricate braids behind his ears, and beside his chair rested a slender, elegantly crafted long-bow, and a quiver of arrows, bound in gold and silver. Gimli recognised him as the Elf who had been watching him the night before.  
  
Finally, a tall, noble-looking man was introduced. His dark brown hair brushed at the fur-lining of his travel stained cloak. Gimli's eyes lingered first upon the silver collar around the man's throat, and then on the horn that rested upon his knees, tipped and bound in silver. The young Dwarf glanced up, and his large brown eyes met the Man's grey ones for a moment.  
  
"Here," Elrond turned from Frodo, and spoke instead to Gandalf, "is Boromir, a man from the South. he arrived in the grey morning, and he seeks for counsel. I have bidden him be present, for here his questions will be answered."  
  
Of the beginning stories and debates of the Council Gimli remembered little. He listened rather than spoke; he was of a naturally quiet nature when faced with a new situation and strangers. Much was spoken of events in the South, places that Gimli, Dwarf of many journeys though he was, had only heard about in tales.  
  
After a few hours -Gimli lost count of how many- Elrond bade Gloin stand and tell his tale. Gimli had heard much of this; his work in the Lonely Mountain consisted mainly of trade with neighbours and other Dwarven communities, when there was trading to be done, so he had heard much of the rumours and whisperings of the evil stirring in the East. Eventually the whispers had crept, slowly, voice by voice, to the doorstep of the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Then the rumours of Moria, of the old splendour of Khazad-dum had grown louder, until eventually Gimli's old cousin, Balin, had resolved to go there, to resurrect the mighty kingdom. With him had gone Ori, and Gloin's brother Oin, always the more adventurous of the two.  
  
Then, Gloin's tone changed from sad and revering, to fearful and anxious. Gimli listened mainly with half an ear now; he knew of all that his father spoke, the Black Rider's visit to Erebor had disturbed him greatly each time, and he did not wish to hear of it again, and instead watched the faces of the Council members: Elrond looked grave, Frodo scared, though he tried valiantly to hide it, Gandalf worried and careworn, Boromir politely puzzled, and the other Elves, if they were anxious of this new threat, hid it well and instead looked mildly interested.  
  
"You have done well to come," Elrond said eventually, his clear, powerful voice bringing Gimli back to the present. "You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy. There is naught that you can do, other than to resist, with hope or without it. But you do not stand alone. You will learn that your trouble is but part of the trouble of all the western world. The Ring! What shall we do with the Ring, the least of rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies? That is the doom that we must deem."  
  
*Hm, Elven saracasm from the Lord of Rivendell,* mused Gimli, *Or so it seems at least.*  
  
"That is the purpose for which you are called hither." Elrond's voice took on a new tone- this one commanding, one of a warrior and a powerful, noble King of Elves, "Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands. You have come, and here we are met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so. Believe rather that it is so ordered that we, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of the world.'  
  
'Now, therefore, things shall be openly spoken that have been hidden from all but a few until this day. And first, so that all may understand what is the peril, the Tale of the Ring shall be told from the beginning even to this present. And I will begin that tale, though others shall end it."  
  
Then there was a pause, and the tension in the air became so strained, that it shocked Gimli that it did not break with a sharp twang as of a loosed bow-string. *We, and no others?* he thought to himself. *Maybe. I do not think that I like taking responsibility for the fate of the whole of the world. Hopefully it will not happen to me again.*  
  
Elrond told the story of the Ring for many hours, and Gimli listened attentively. Dwarves were not known for their long-attention spans to any stories but their own, but Gimli found himself fascinated by this unusual tale of grief, war, victory and much else. He barely took his eyes from the fair face of the tall Elven-Lord for the whole time he spoke.  
  
Finally, when the sun had risen high over their heads, he ceased his tale. There was a silence, broken only by the sounds of distant birds singing, unaware of the peril hanging over the world. The silence, however, seemed loud, almost echoing in Gimli's ears; it almost seemed like a sharp, reverberating twang. This was almost beginning to irritate Gimli, even with his rather placid character. The tension was almost becoming unbearable.  
  
Eventually, Boromir broke the silence by standing abruptly. "Give me leave, Master Elrond," he began, and his voice was clear and powerful; obviously that of a man used to commanding others, "first to say more of Gondor, for verily from the land of Gondor I am come." Gimli watched the tall man, strangely entranced by his manner. This man was capable of holding many peoples attention with his voice alone, and Gimli admired him instantly. The Council listened in captivated silence as Boromir's voice became more passionate, as he spoke of Gondor and it's deeds, and the war that had come upon it from the East, especially to Osgiliath. Gimli did not know of Osgiliath, but guessed that it had once been a great city, destroyed by the might of the Enemy. "I was in the company that held the bridge," Boromir continued, "until it was cast down behind us. Four only were saved by swimming: my brother and myself and two others. But still we fight on, holding all the west shores of Anduin; and those who shelter behind us give us praise, if ever they hear our name: much praise but little help. Only from Rohan now will any men ride to us when we call."  
  
Now Boromir's tone changed: it became strangely weary, not so proud nor so passionate. "In this evil hour I have come on an errand over many dangerous leagues to Elrond: a hundred and ten days I have jouneyed all alone. But I do not seek allies in war. The might of Elrond is in wisdom not in weapons, it is said. I come to ask for counsel and the unravelling of hard words. For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me."  
  
Boromir now sighed, and his shoulders seemed to sag almost. Gimli watched his eyes carefully; the Dwarf had always been rather fascinated with people's eyes, thinking them to be an important window into a person's character and feelings. Right now, Boromir's eyes were slightly glazed, as though he were trying to pull details from a distant memory.  
  
"In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:  
  
*Seek for the Sword that was broken: In Imladris it dwells; There shall be counsels taken Stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token That Doom is near at hand, For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Halfling forth shall stand.*"  
  
Gimli's naturally quick mind began to puzzle over these staves as soon as they were loosed from Boromir's tongue. The Sword that was broken? Imladris was Rivendell, he knew that; counsels were being taken right at this moment, but were they indeed 'stronger than Morgul-spells'? Isildur's Bane, now that Elrond had spoken his story, was quite clearly the Ring, and the Halfling... there were two nearby. The Sword that was Broken was very important obviously, but for the life of him Gimli couldn't figure out why it would be so. What use was a broken weapon after all? Were you to draw it and hope that the Orcs would die of laughter at your folly?  
  
Boromir was speaking again, resuming his proud stance and tone of voice, "Loth was my father to give me leave, and long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay."  
  
At that, Boromir was interrupted: the tall, weatherbeaten man in the corner, wearing stained and faded clothes stood and came forward, a glint in his eye and a grim smile on his lips. Gimli felt strongly about him immediately, but he did not know whether it was like or dislike. "And here in the house of Elrond more shall be made clear to you," he fixed his eye to Boromir's and Boromir held it for a moment before looking down. The Ranger dropped onto the table a sword, but it was broken just below the hilt, and the rest of the blade was cast beside it. "Here was the Sword that was Broken!" The Ranger drew himself up and his eyes glinted sternly.  
  
"And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?" Boromir's face was full of wonder as he gazed at the man again, who stood tall and resolute, the grim smile not leaving his lips, making his short dark beard curve upwards coldly. It was Elrond who spoke next.  
  
"He is Aragorn son of Arathorn," said he, looking at Boromir as though daring him to defy his words, "and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur, Elendil's son of Minas Ithil. He is the Chief of the Dúnedain in the North, and few are now left of that folk." A look of shock mingled, strangely, with horror passed over Boromir's fair face. Gimli was left floundering, shocked and a little lost after the sudden strange turn of events, so that he only caught the last few words of Frodo.  
  
"-and not to me at all!" he exclaimed, on his feet as though a furnace had been lit under his chair, his eyes wide with amazement. But the weather- beaten ranger smiled at him kindly, the corners of his beetle-black eyes twinkling with a strange fondness. It made him look like a venerable lord, and Gimli knew that if he gave a command, it would be followed. For a moment he felt rather small, among all these great lords, warriors, men and elves of such high standing. But the moment passed.  
  
"It has been ordained that you should hold it for a while." Aragorn was saying, laying a comforting hand on Frodo's shoulder, and seating himself again, looking at Elrond.  
  
"Bring out the Ring, Frodo!" said Gandalf, stirring suddenly, and grasping his staff tighter, "The time has come. Hold it up, and then Boromir will understand the remainder of his riddle."  
  
Glóin shifted expectantly in his seat beside Gimli, as were many other council members, craning their necks to look at the hobbit, who stood shifting from foot to foot, nervous under the scrutiny of his fellows. He was trembling ever so slightly, and once more Gimli pitied him as fear flickered in his wide eyes and an embarassed flush crept up his neck. But the dwarf leant forward eagerly like the rest, wanting to see this 'token of doom'. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Frodo pulled out a chain from his tunic, and there, at the end of it, swinging slightly and glinting temptingly in the morning sun, was the Ring.  
  
It was truly beautiful in it's simplicity. A golden band, unadorned and hardly ornate, but it had obviously been carved carefully and with great love. It's simple smoothness and glittering golden surface almost called out to Gimli... *Come, take me... take me, little Naug. Take me, put me on, and all your hopes, wishes, dreams... they will all be yours truly. Take me...*  
  
Gimli shook his head quickly. No. It was evil. Elrond had made that perfectly clear. He did not want such things through evil and foul play. No. It could not tempt him. Gimli sat back.  
  
"Behold Isildur's Bane!"  
  
The other council members had all sat back. Gimli wondered whether they had experienced similar whisperings stirring their hearts and minds as himself. Only Boromir remained leaning forward eagerly, longing immediately evident in his sharp grey eyes.  
  
"The Halfling!" he muttered, his voice trembling with a sudden thrill of fear. "Is then the doom of Minas Tirith come at last? But why then should we seek a broken sword?" He cast a contemtuos glance at the heirloom on the table before Elrond.  
  
"The words were not *the doom of Minas Tirith*," said Aragorn in a scathing tone, "But doom and great deeds are indeed at hand. For the Sword that was Broken is the Sword of Elendil that broke beneath him when he fell. It has been treasured by his heirs when all other heirlooms were lost; for it was spoken of old among us that it should be made again whn the Ring, Isildur's Bane, was found. Now you have seen the sword that you have sought, what would you ask? Do you wish for the House of Elendil to return to the Land of Gondor?"  
  
Gimli was not sure what to think. This man was proud, as proud as Boromir, and was proclaiming to be the lost heir to Isildur, a name Gimli knew only from distant tales about the Second Age. Though his irritation was well- founded, Gimli thought he was being a little sharp with Boromir. After all, the poor man had come only to seek the meaning of a dream, and had been presesented with the fate of the world and a man who was apparently the heir to the throne of half of Middle-earth. Gimli considered Aragorn to be being a little unreasonable.  
  
"I was not sent to beg any boon, but to seek the meaning of a riddle," Boromir answered, pride and his irritation in his voice. Gimli silently cheered him. "Yet we are hard pressed, and the Sword of Elendil would be a help beyond hope- if such a thing could indeed return out of the shadows of the past." It seemed to take much for Boromir to shelve his pride to admit that the return of the King would be an unfathomably joyous event, but he made it plain he still had is doubts about Aragorn's heritage.  
  
At that, Bilbo, despite his old age, sprang to his feet as best he could, and burst out with:  
  
*All that is gold does not glitter Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached bu the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be the blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king.*  
  
Mahal's Beard, thought Gimli, another riddle! Why can these folk not speak in plain terms? He shook his head in perplexity at the strange ways of other folk, then once again, marvelling at how much he sounded like his father. Bilbo told Boromir that he had better listen to his verses, before sitting down with a snort, resembling exactly a grumpy old grandfather. Gimli fought the urge to grin.  
  
Aragorn smiled at Bilbo, then turned to Boromir, with a still cold yet slightly softer look that before. "For my part I forgive your doubt," he told told the younger man. "Little do I resemble the figures of Elendil and Isildur as they stand carven in their majesty in the halls of Denethor. I am but the heir of Isildur, not Isildur himself. I have had a hard life and a long; and the leagues that lie between here and Gondor are but a small part in the count of my journeys. I have crossed many mountains and many rivers, and trodden many plains, even into the far countries of Rhun and Harad where the stars are strange."  
  
Aragorn spoke long then, recounting the loneliness of being a Ranger of the wild, but how the world would be darker and more evil if their constant vigilance did not drive them away. He told how they were scorned by travellers and more ignorant folk, and prejudice of his people. Gimli began to rapidly rethink his quick assesment of the man's behaviour. He did not blame him for his way, having lived such a hard life. Gimli knew how it felt to be doubted and misjudged when you only wanted trust and respect, having lived for the first few years of his life in poverty due to, and his heart stirred in anger at the thought, that Worm Smaug.  
  
"Isildur's Bane is found, you say," murmured Boromir, looking at Aragorn seemingly in a new light, "I have seen a bright ring in the Halfling's Hand; but Isildur perished ere this age of the world began, the ysay. How do the Wise know that this ring is his? And how has it passed down the years, until it was brought hither by so strange a messenger?"  
  
~~~  
  
I have ended this here, because the Council of Elrond in the books is such a long chapter, and I did not want to put it all up on here as one humongous block of text. So I've split it into two smaller, easier to handle chapters. Please leave a review on your way out! ~DtT~ 


	3. Oops sorry!

Ack. This chapter was here for a little while, but then disappeared again. Some desperate re-thinking and re-writing needs to be done, because canon began to deviate rather badly. Okay, so I was writing it at two am when I was a) meant to be asleep because of a GCSE on Monday and b) watching re- runs of Will and Grace (at 2:45 am this nearly became a slash story). So please read the new chapter two and bear with me- chapter three will be up by the end of May. Long time away I know but I have exams, and my birthday and a trip planned so be patient!  
  
Thankyou so much for all the kind reviews, and as a treat, here's messages to ya'll!  
  
Ro: I'm not 'abandoning' my other stories as such... I just have terrible writers block, and I will continue them as soon as inspiration sees fit to pay me a visit! I too am a dark-haired Legolas fan, but I'm more on a 'deliberately contradict PJ' trip if you understand. I hope you enjoy more of this! And if you stop writing your fic I will hunt you down and threaten you with a battle axe until you continue ;).  
  
Honesty: Oh. My. God. I fell off my chair (literally!) when you reviewed! Thankyou SO much! And keep the critiscism coming- I need it. And keep reading, PLEASE! *weeps*  
  
Dís: Not many people want to know what Gimli thinks of matters beside me, and I'm glad that you do too. Keep reading!  
  
Mahal: I loved The Hobbit too and will probably draw heavily from it for references at some points. Keep reading, glad you like it!  
  
the wanna be dwarf: Here's some more for ya! I'm glad to find more people who love the Dwarves, from one wanna-be Dwarf to another.  
  
Tina: Much as I adore PJ's movies, I agree with throwing Gimli and dwarves in general in a bad light. I hope to keep out of that trap, and I hope you keep reading. I'm getting bored of the constant Legolas this Legolas that, Legolas falls in love with some girl, Legolas Legolas Legolas...ahhhh! Only a select few loved him to bits before the movie came out! Sheesh!  
  
Bulma Greenleaf: Glad you'll read forever, lol! I'll always write from the books. The books rock! In this case some parts may be a little fragmented, and we may not get all the information, because Gimli didn't. If Gimli doesn't hear it, we won't either (unless it's too important to miss out). Keep reading, and I'll be most grateful!  
  
Kat Heiman: Another one I'm shocked to hear from! I'm glad you like my dark- haired Legolas. I'm on a deliberately do the opposite of PJ trip here! Hope your arm's better! Prolly is since that was ages ago...  
  
Karlyl: I too identify most with Gimli, and I'm glad I'm not the only one! If you wanna get in touch I'm always willing to talk to Gimli fans! 


	4. Friends of Old

Authors Note: Thankyou once again for the reviews! Hugs and obergines for all! This chapter will go a bit slow, but after this one I'm going to try and get the Fellowship out of Rivendell pretty quick so I can get the Quest on with. If anyone has any ideas on how I can write the Council in a more interesting way I'll give you an extra obergine for it....  
  
Anyhoo, this chapter has finally worked out (thank the Valar...) so here ya go, after some notes to you wonderful wonderful people I want to hug to death because you review.  
  
Anorlas: I know a lot of Legolas's family history has golden-haired Elves, but in truth we know nothing of his mother, and I may be applying the 'illegitimate Legolas' theory here, so his mother could have been dark- haired. As for canon-reference to the colour: it is when they are travelling along the Anduin, and Legolas is looking to shoot the Nazgul, and Frodo looks up at his 'dark head'. I know it's night but that said 'dark hair' to me. If anyone wants my 'ancestry of Legolas has dark-hair rant' then ask in the review and I'll stick it with the next chapter.  
  
Jazmin: There is too much of Legolas and Aragorn these days. So I'm supplying Gimli. Go me! ^^;  
  
Lady Korana: Ah, the blonde Legolas was actually a typo. I am very silly. Thankyou for reminding me about that. I will fix it now!  
  
Tina: Me? Disappear? There's too much of me to disappear! Unfortunately, my faithful WordPad does not have a 'web-page' option to save. I'll have to stick to the funky asterikses (with the new funky spelling). Oh, and slash? Yes... heh heh. Well it was going to be the only pairing I can stick, as-in Gimli/Legolas.  
  
Aislynn Crowdaughter: I for one see Gimli as having a rather sarcastic sense of humour at times. Also, I can see him as having a lot of weaknesses about his character that he hides from everyone else. Oh, Legolas won't suffer! Valar, no! I love Legolas! He'll be the strong warrior-Elf who sings and dances abut on the snow being cheeky to the Wizard. And his vocabulary will extend beyond 'orcs!' and will not fall in love with anyone falling from the sky. Rant over.  
  
Honesty: You are a very scary person, yes. But seriously, you're one of my favourite authors and the mere thought of you sitting down to read my story is... wow *goes red*. Why not slash? Because, unfortunately, I cannot write romance, nor can I write slash (I've tried. It's crap) so I don't want to ruin it. But after Lothlorién I may stick in some slashy-undertones that can be interpreted however you see fit.  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm even borrowing my body from God. I'll have to give it back to him at some point :( some text is taken from Tolkien's books. I don't own this either. You should know which it is.  
  
*............* indicates italics. I can't use html. I'm stupid.  
  
~Through the Eyes of a Stranger~  
  
Gimli paused in his thoughts. He knew the tale of how Bilbo had come by the Ring, as his elders who had gone on the Quest for Erebor had recounted it to him afterwards, though Gimli had found it a little strange that it had been a 'present' to Bilbo, but had not thought it his place to question it, and had kept his tongue in check. But how had *Gollum* got the Ring? It was something Gimli had never wondered at before. But then, he reasoned, he had never known how important this Ring may have been.  
  
Bilbo told his tale, and Gimli, who knew the story, began to sink into his own thoughts. The hobbit's method of story-telling was long-winded and detailed, and Gimli began to ponder what would happen if the Ring was the ruling ring, which Elrond and Gandalf both seemed convinced it was, which was enough for the young Dwarf. Gimli could see no option other than hiding it or, he shuddered to think, destroying it. But what would that entail? Which poor souls would take it? How would they get there? Gimli was so lost in his musings that, when he snapped back to the present, Bilbo was telling the story of Gollum and the riddle game, and, to Gimli's surprise, this tale was wholly new. It wasn't a birthday present at all! Gimli felt strangely satisfied; he had been right! The 'present' version had seemed strange to him, but the real version made much more sense. After more long- winded explanations about Mirkwood, the Lonely Mountain, Dale, the Arkenstone, the Battle of Five Armies and the journey home, Elrond raised a hand to cease the hobbit's talk.  
  
Next, poor Frodo was told to tell his tale, which he did, though uncertainly and with a few pauses as he struggled to remember details. Every time something odd happened, Frodo was stopped and his story so far considered upon at great length. Once again, Gimli kept his opinions to himself (and it took quite a lot to make him do that) and allowed the rest of the council to do the considering, though he absorbed all the facts and possibilities to be thought upon later. The Black Riders, Tom Bombadil, the incident and meeting with Aragorn in Bree, the attack on Weathertop... Gimli found himself becoming more and more amazed at the stalwart hobbits- they seemed unbeatable by any foe so far placed in front of them. They had tough bones and Gimli admired their deeply buried courage.  
  
After his tale was over, Frodo sat down, looking weary but relieved to have the burden of his tale off of his chest. He was speaking quietly with Bilbo when Galdor, the Elf sent by Círdan from the Havens, cried out. "You speak for me also," he turned to Elrond, his grey gaze unsure. He questioned imploringly the proofs the Wise had that Ring was Isildur's, and to know the reason for the absence of Saruman, a name Gimli had only heard once or twice. He knew only that he was a very powerful and wise Wizard of Gandalf's Order.  
  
Gandalf told then a tale that shocked Gimli more than the tale even of Frodo. The wizened old wizard told of his venturing past the doors of the Necromancer in Dol Guldur, the visit to the library of Minas Tirith, his description of the scrolls of Isildur, of his ill-founded advice from Saruman, resulting in Gandalf biding his time and tending to matters other than the Ring. He then told of the attempted capture of Gollum which failed, and of the test performed on the Ring to test whether it was truly the Ring of Isildur. Then Gimli began to wonder at the fact that this wizard, his old friend who he had known since he was knee-high to a hobbit, had found time to help and visit Gimli and his family when he had so many other imortant matters to attend to. Still, this made Gimli all the more grateful that the cranky old man had found it in his heart to look out for the exiled dwarves, because if he had not done so Gimli guessed that neither he nor many of his family would be alive today.  
  
Gimli caught himself mentally. He had been just about to sink into a vast void of depression and terrible memories, something he was often poised to do. he had learnt to catch himself, to judge when he was on the point of no return, and to jerk himself back from it. Before, when he was younger, he had been unable to do that and would often lapse into a sullen silence as he wallowed in a pit of despair.  
  
It was at that moment that something strange happened. The wizard's voice became harsh and distant; it was so powerful that the air shook and Gimli could have sworn that the ground beneath his feet trembled.  
  
"*Ash nazg durbataluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakataluk, agh burzum- ishi krimpatul.*"  
  
Dark clouds swirled overhead, blocking the sunlight. A harsh wind whistled through the trees, and some copper leaves blew from their branches. Gimli felt a cold stab in his chest, like a hand of ice grasping his heart and wrenching, twisting, trying in vain to pull it from his body. He gasped, and shut his eyes tight an attempt to block out the terrible feeling. It passed as soon as it had come, but it left Gimli feeling weak. He looked around, trying to stop trembling, and saw that all the elves were looking shocked, and many were cautiously removing their hands from their place over their ears. It was Elrond who spoke first, and even he sounded as though he had to force his voice not to shake.  
  
"Never before has any voice dared to utter that tongue in Imladris, Gandalf the Grey."  
  
"And let us hope that none will ever speak it here again," Gandalf replied, sitting himself down and leaning heavily on his staff as he did so; those words had not affected the wizard the least, it seemed. "Nonetheless I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond. For if that tongue is not soon to be heard in every corner of the West, then let all put doubt aside that this thing is indeed what the Wise have declared: the treasure of the Enemy, fraught with all his malice; and in it lies a great part of his strength of old. Out of the Black Years have come the words that the Smiths of Eregion heard, and knew that they had been betrayed:  
  
One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them.  
  
Know also, my friends, that I learned yet more from Gollum. He was loth to speak and his tale was unclear, but it is beyond doubt that he went to Mordor, and there all that he knew was forced from him. Thus, the Enemy knows now that the One is found, that it was long in the Shire; and since his servants have pursued it almost to our door, he soon will know, already may know, even as I speak, that we have it here."  
  
Once more the Council fell into a silence. Gimli looked down, studying his boots. He was still slightly shaky at Gandalf's sudden speaking of the Black Speech, and he still felt strangely cold and sick inside. Was there any hope for Middle-earth? If so, could not someone give some words of encouragement? Maybe something like: If we are all happy and get along together, Sauron will be revulsed and give up. Gimli mentally scolded himself for trying to be humourous about something as deathly serious as this. And it had not even been funny. Merely awfully twisted.  
  
Eventually, Boromir spoke, and the sudden sound of his voice made Gimli jump slightly. He looked up swiftly, and saw that Boromir was sitting forward, his chin resting on his hands, and his elbows propped on his knees. "He is a small thing, you say, this Gollum?" He queried, sounding as though he were merely curious, but his eyes seemed strange; a cold fire flickered in them, "Small, but great in mischief. What became of him? To what doom did you put him?"  
  
*Good question*. Gimli thought. *What has happened to that vile creature? Did Gandalf kill him? I do not think that would be Gandalf's way.*  
  
"He is in prison, but no worse," said Aragorn. "He had suffered much. There is no doubt that he was tormented, and the fear of Sauron lies black on his heart. Still I for one am glad that he is safely kept by the watchful Elves of Mirkwood."  
  
At this point, it was all Gimli could do not to cough pointedly. Hardly watchful Elves, he thought, that allowed their guards to get drunk on heady wine meant for their king, and to let thirteen dwarves and a hobbit all escape right under their noses. Obviously, Aragorn did not possess the memory of that incident, or he was just conveniently forgetting in favour of the first-born.  
  
"He could work much mischief still, if he were free. I do not doubt that he was allowed to leave Mordor on some evil errand." the Ranger finished.  
  
"Alas! alas!" at that, Legolas stood up, his eyes wildly searching the council room. "The tidings that I was sent to bring must not be rold. They are not good, but only here have I learned how evil they may seem to this company. Sméagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped."  
  
"Escaped?" Aragorn exclaimed, surprise flitting momentarily across his features. "That is ill news indeed. We shall all rue it bitterly, I fear. How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?"  
  
Though the news was terrible, and already the dwarf rued what had happened, it barely surprised him. *Score two for escaped prisoners.* he thought to himself. *Probably the elves found some more vintage wine in their cellars.*  
  
"Not through lack of watchfulness," replied the Wood-elf, and Gimli swore he glanced in his direction. He hoped the Elf could not read minds. "But perhaps through over-kindliness. And we fear that the prisoner had aid from others, and that more is known of our doings than we could wish. We guarded this creature day and night, at Gandalf's bidding, much though we wearied of the task. But Gandalf bade us hope still for his cure, nad we had not the heart to keep him ever in the dungeons under the earth, where he would fall back into his old black thoughts."  
  
"You were less tender to me," Glóin exclaimed, frowning at the old memories. Gimli too felt hot anger stir in his heart; the elves found it in their hearts to treat a miserable, wicked creature such as Gollum with kindness, but not thirteen hungry, lost and sick dwarves? It made Gimli sick- the dwarves did not like the elves, and did not always treat them with respect, that was true, but the elves did not treat them with any more than they were given. But still, giving this creature more kindness than he deserved, and treating the dwarves like true criminals was an evil thing, in the mind of Gimli.  
  
"Now come!" Gandalf said, obviously making a great effort to keep the peace. "Pray do not interrupt, my good Glóin. That was a regrettable misunderstanding, long set right. If all the grievances that stand between Elves and Dwarves are to be brought up here, we may as well abandon this Council."  
  
Glóin rose from his seat and bowed, though Gimli knew that he was bowing in respect for Gandalf's words, not to apologise to Legolas. The Elf acknowledged the gesture with a short nod of his head, but obviously knew that it was meant to Gandalf, not for himself. When Glóin had seated himself, Legolas continued.  
  
Gimli lost concentration whilst the Elf talked. True, his voice was sweet and captivating, but Gimli was determined not to succumb to it's spell, even if that meant not listening. He caught snatches of phrases, about how they let Gollum climb a tree he liked often, and about the Orcs that had come upon them, and that after the attack, Gollum had vanished.  
  
"Well, well, he is gone," Gandalf sighed. "We have no time to seek for him again. He must dow hat he will. But he may play a part yet that neither he nor Sauron have forseen."  
  
"And now," he continued, "I will answer Galdor's other questions. What of Saruman? What are his counsels to us in this need? This tale I must tell in full, for only Elrond has heard it yet, and that in brief; but it will bear on all that we must resolve. It is the last chapter in the Tale of the Ring, so far as it has yet gone."  
  
The Wizard's tale then wound on, to his meeting with Radagast the Brown, his meeting with Saruman, whose treachery was revealed, and his imprisonment on top of Orthanc, before he was rescued by Gwaihir the Windlord, greatest of Eagles.  
  
He then told of his visit to Rohan, and then of his meeting with Barliman, giving him the fateful letter. Frodo cried out in alarm then, thinking that Gandalf had done something terrible to the bumbling innkeeper. The wizard laughed, and told Frodo that no harm had come to Butterbur; indeed, quite the opposite, because Butterbur told him of the hobbits taking Strider with them. Frodo quieted, and Gandalf continued; his tale travelled to Weathertop and then the praise of Shadowfax, the great steed he had taken from Rohan. Gimli shuddered a little, and Glóin looked sidelong at him. Gimli feared horses greatly, but he overcame quickly the clutch of dread on his heart, and did not meet his father's gaze, looking straight ahead. Gandalf asked the council to forgive the length of his account, and sat down, looking vaguely satisfied.  
  
There was a silence whilst everybody digested Gandalf's news. The expression on the face of each council member was troubled, but Gimli did not notice. He too was immensely anxious and, though he would never admit it to anyone, he was quite scared about what the future would bring. Treachery. Was the world not evil enough without a noble and wise being decieving them, to join the Enemy? Treachery was an evil greater than any that Sauron could conjure, Gimli knew. His heart burned in anger and he knew that if he saw Saruman's slimy face he would be unable to be restrained from planting his large fist right in the centre of it, with considerable force.  
  
"This is grievous news concerning Saruman," Elrond sighed. For a moment he looked old, though his face was as ageless as ever. It was a strange moment, but it passed, "for we trusted him and he is deep in all our counsels. It is perilous to study too deep into the arts of the Enemy, for good or ill. But such falls and betrayals, alas, have happened before."  
  
Deep into our counsels? Gimli thought. Well, that makes sense, I suppose. It just makes his treachery thrice as evil.  
  
"I have known few hobbits, save Bilbo here; and it seems to me that he is not so alone and singular as I had thought him." At this point Bilbo looked disgruntled and annoyed. Frodo smiled, and it was the first true smile Gimli had seen on him, though it was a little strained.  
  
Elrond continued to speak, and Gimli began to wonder at the fact that many of his elders told him he spoke too much. Had they never been acquainted with elves, hobbits or wizards? He doubted it, now. "Iarwain Ben-adar we called him, oldest and fatherless. But many other names he has since been given by other folk: Forn by the Dwarves, Orald by Northern Men and many other names beside. He is a strange creature, but maybe I should have summoned him to our Council." It took Gimli a little while to get back on track. The mention of Forn informed him that they were discussing the ridiculous creature of Bombadil, whom the hobbits had encountered.  
  
"He would not have come," Gandalf replied simply.  
  
Erestor stirred, and spoke. Whether he was speaking just to Gandalf and Elrond or to the entire Council was difficult to tell, "Could we not still send messages to him and obtain his help?" he queried. "It seems that he has power even over the Ring."  
  
"No, I should not put it so," said Gandalf. Of course you wouldn't, Gimli thought, you can never put it the same way as normal people. "He is his own master. But he cannot alter the Ring itself, not break its power over others. And now he is withdrawn into a little land, within bounds that he has set, though none can see them, waiting perhaps for a change of days, and he will not step beyond them."  
  
"But within these bounds nothing seems to dismay him," Erestor countered, echoing Gimli's thoughts. "Would he not take the Ring and keep it there, for ever harmless?"  
  
"No," Gandalf replied, "not willingly. He might do so, if all the free folk of the world begged him, but he would not understand the need."  
  
Not understand the need? Gimli thought, perplexed, what is there not to understand? If he does not take it, Middle-earth will be over-run with darkness. If he does, it will be safe, for a while at least.  
  
"But in any case," Glorfindel sighed, shaking his magnificent golden head, "to send the Ring to him would only postpone the day of evil. He is far away. We could not now take it back to him, unguessed, unmarked by any spy. And even if we could, soon or late the Lord of the Rings would learn of its hiding place and would bend all his power towards it. Could that power be defied by Bombadil alone? I think not. I think that in the end, if all else is conquered, Bombadil will fall, Last as he was First; and then Night will come."  
  
Still a notable lack of hopeful, comforting words, Gimli noted. He glanced sidelong at Frodo; he was grasping the arms fo his chair so hard that his knuckles were white, and he did not appear to be listening to the debate at all. Instead, he seemed to be struggling with some internal battle.  
  
"Power to defy out Enemy is not in him," Galdor said quietly, "unless such power is in the earth itself. And yet we see that Sauron can torture and destroy the very hills. What power still remains lies with us, here in Imladris, or with Círdan at the Havens, or in Lórien. But have they the strength, have we here the strength to withstand the Enemy, the coming of Sauron, at the last, when all else is overthrown?"  
  
There was a moment of quiet then. To Gimli, the answer seemed plain enough. It was 'no'.  
  
"I have not the strength," said Elrond, and he sounded weary; "neither have they."  
  
"Then if the Ring cannot be kept from him for ever by strength," Glorfindel answered, "two things only remain for us to attempt: to send it over the Sea, or to destroy it."  
  
"But Gandalf has revealed to us that we cannot destroy it by any craft that we here possess," said Elrond, and it seemed that it was only his self- discipline that was keeping him from sounding distraught and at wit's end. "And they who dwell beyond the Sea would not recieve it: for good or ill it belongs to Middle-earth; it is for us who still dwell here to deal with it."  
  
"Then," said Glorfindel, who appeared to have taken charge of the decision- making, in the face of his lord's hoplessness, "let us cast it into the deeps, and so make the lies of Saruman come true. For it is clear now that even at the Council his feet were already on a crooked path. He knew that the Ring was not lost forever, but wished us to think so; for he began to lust for it himself. Yet oft in lies truth is hidden: in the Sea it would be safe."  
  
"Not safe for ever," said Gandalf. He seemed to determined to be as gloomy as was possible today. "There are many things in the deep waters; and seas and lands may change. And it is not out part here to take thought only for a season, or for a few lives of Men, or for a passing age of the world. We should seek a final end of this menace, even if we do not hope to make one."  
  
"And that we shall not find on the roads to the Sea," Galdir sighed. "If the return to Iarwain be thought too dangerous, then flight to the Sea is now fraught with gravest peril." his fair face was full of despair; he obviously dreaded the road he would have to take on his return to Círdan. "My heart tells me that Sauron will expect us to take the western way, when he learns what has befallen. He soon will. The Nine have been unhorsed indeed but that is but a respite, ere they find new steeds and swifter. Only the waning might of Gondor stands now between him and a march in power along the coasts into the North; and if he comes, assailing the White Towers and the Havens, hereafter the Elves may have no escape from the lengthening shadows of Middle-earth."  
  
Elves, thought Gimli irritably, always the elves. What about the other peoples? Do you not worry about how they will escape from the Darkness of Mordor? I don't suppose you give thought to us; as long as you can escape to your haven, why worry about everyone else, living their temporary lives in fear and enslavement?  
  
"There are but two courses, as Glorfindel already has declared:" Erestor said, "to hide the Ring for ever or to unmake it. But both are beyond our power. Who will read this riddle for us?  
  
"None here can do so," said Elrond, sounding more sure of himself. "At least none can foretell what will come to pass, if we take this road or that. But it seems to me now clear which is the road that we must take. The westward road seems easiest. Therefore it must be shunned. It will be watched. Too often the Elves have fled that way. Now at this last we must take a hard road, a road unforseen. There lies our hope, if hope it be. To walk into peril- to Mordor. We must send the Ring to the Fire."  
  
After that statement, Gimli heard little of the council. Send it to the Fire? Surely the Enemy would have all the roads to and from Mordor guarded vigilantly? And who would take it? A large army, capable of keeping the forces at bay, at least for a little while? But them, what would happen when they reached Mordor? No army would be capable of storming the Dark Tower, and reaching Mount Doom. And there was also the risk that the Bearer would claim the Ring for his own before they reached to Fire. What would happen then?  
  
For that matter, who would be the bearer? Not an elf. The elves were fading. They would not want to risk going to Mordor to destroy the Ring. Men? No. The tale of Isildur was enough to know that it was not safe. Dwarves? They were incorruptable, the Ring would affect them less than other races, and they were strong and steadfast, and would probably make it across Mordor, but the elves would not trust a mere Dwarf with the fate of the world.  
  
But that left...  
  
"I will take the Ring," Frodo said softly, his small face drawn and pale with worry and fear, though his eyes were defiant. "Though I do not know the way."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Finally! I actually finished this chapter! Rejoice! Please leave a review on the way out, and I promise that this story will pick up before long. Writing the Council of Elrond is harder than I ever would have imagined! Oh, and I need to request a beta reader. If you are willing, please say in your review and I will get back to you. Leave your e-mail address if it's not on your profile. Cheers!  
  
~DtT~ 


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